


The Fires at the End of the World

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine has an appointment with his own personal destiny, so naturally Merlin's there to interfere. Future fic. Incorporates some of the myths about Gawain, smooshes in a bastardisation of Scandinavian legends, and has dopey-in-love boys. Also Merlin is a badass who can also turn into an adorable cat (just go with it, okay).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fires at the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Written for gwaine_quest's Oktoberfest at LJ. Thanks to red_cortina for the beta, and eldee and lolafeist for readthroughs.

The Duke of Rheged's lands lie far to the north of Camelot, almost to the fiercely disputed border with the Celts. That's a concern for another day, though. The sun is starting to drop when the Duke's men meet them on the outskirts of the city of Rheged. Hopefully that means it won't be long before they can get off these damned horses. Gwaine has passed through Rheged a few times before, on his way north or south, and he actually found the hard, stony ground preferable on foot. It's cold here too, colder than the depths of winter in Camelot, and for once Gwaine's grateful for the luxury of his uniform, and particularly for the fur collars on their cloaks that Merlin had insisted upon before they left Camelot.

Gwaine looks up ahead to where Merlin is riding at Arthur's side, the pair of them flanked by the Duke's men. Like he can feel the weight of Gwaine's gaze, Merlin twists around in his saddle to look over his shoulder at Gwaine. He pulls a _help, help, I'm so bored_ face and then smiles broadly at Gwaine before turning back. Gwaine ducks his head and fails to hide a grin, all too aware that Percival and Elyan, riding on either side of him, are doubtless smirking at each other over his head.

At least Leon has some discretion, Gwaine thinks despairingly, but oh no, Arthur had left him behind in Camelot to assist Gwen in their absence. And so Gwaine's stuck with this bloody double-act, the pair of them already cracking jokes about 'a lover's eyes.' Gwaine scoffs and deliberately keeps his face straight as he thinks of dismounting his horse, sitting by a fire, eating something that isn't hauled out of a saddle-bag, and maybe finding the time to drag Merlin away for an hour or two of privacy.

Evening is well on the way by the time they're led into the main hall. It's smaller, but somehow more imposing than Camelot's throne room. In deference to the weather, Gwaine supposes, there are fires, furs and practicality to Camelot's silk and elegance. The Duke of Rheged's men are arrayed throughout the hall, and Gwaine notices their relaxed postures. North Rheged has sworn allegiance to Camelot like so much of the rest of Albion, without a drop of blood spilled. Normally that is down to Arthur's careful negotiations and the respect Merlin is held in by the magical community.

Arthur, Merlin, and a party of knights and foot-soldiers have been travelling around the land gathering tribute from those who can afford it, and oaths alone from those who cannot, and this is the first place where Gwaine has felt that something untoward might happen. Arthur seems to have few concerns, but Gwaine feels faintly on edge. Of course, it could easily be about being this far north, in this cold land. It always takes him back to days long past, to a strange land across the sea and a man who died an impossible death.

Once the pleasantries are exchanged, they eat a frankly glorious meal of hearty stew and bread, and then Arthur pleads tiredness from a long day's ride. At a nod, Gwaine, Percival and Elyan slip away from the other men and follow Arthur and Merlin from the hall. Once they are alone in the sumptuous chambers that have been set aside for Arthur, they drop their formality. Percival perches on the edge of the table, rubbing at the back of his ankle and muttering under his breath about new boots. Elyan and Merlin make a beeline for the table of refreshments left for Arthur's pleasure while Gwaine falls down onto one of the cushion-covered benches that line the room.

He watches with vague interest as Merlin pours goblets of spiced wine and crosses the room again, handing one to Arthur before he sits on the bench next to Gwaine, sharing the other goblet between them.

"Thanks, darlin'," Gwaine whispers, soft enough to keep it between them. Not that the others don't know, of course. It's just undeniably pleasant to see that soft, secretive smile on Merlin's face and to feel their fingers brush as they pass the drink back and forth.

"Alright," Arthur says, unfurling a map and spreading it out on the table before him. Elyan stands by his shoulder, looking down at it, and Gwaine cranes his neck to see a hastily sketched map. "This was prepared by one of our scouts – " (because God forbid Arthur admit Camelot has anything so ignoble as a spy) " – who has spent some time in the town."

"It's a good sized place, isn't it?" Elyan asks, and Arthur nods.

"Quite a lot of permanent residents, and a fair number of traders swell their ranks regularly."

Gwaine passes their shared drink back to Merlin just as Arthur says, "Merlin, Gwaine, I want the two of you to go out among the people. I believe I trust Duke Rheged's intentions, but it can't hurt to know more about the opinion of the people."

Gwaine can see Percival's mind translating that into _go and check out the local taverns_ , and he can't help smirking at his friend's disappointment.

"Alright, Arthur," Merlin says, nodding. "We'll set off soon, and report back to you at the end of the night."

Arthur looks decidedly sceptical about that and says, "First thing in the morning will suffice."

Merlin stands up and hands their half-empty goblet to Percival. "Here, you finish that. Arthur, is there anything you need before we leave?"

 _Way too keen_ , Gwaine thinks and sure enough Arthur turns a haughty stare on Merlin.

"You do realise that I haven't just given the two of you an evening's leisure, don't you, Merlin?"

Merlin nods quickly. "Oh, absolutely."

"You can rely on us, Arthur," Gwaine says.

Maybe that's pushing it a bit, because Arthur groans and tips his head back to look at Elyan. "What was I thinking?" he asks, but he's smiling as he says it.

*

It's nice, walking with Merlin, having time to themselves. They're both very aware of their surroundings of course, both listening as much to the people that pass them as to their own relaxed conversation. It still feels good, their hands brushing as they talk, the curve of Merlin's smile when Gwaine bumps their hips together. The sun has completely gone from the day now but they're walking through a busy part of town, fires and lanterns painting their light over Merlin's skin. Gwaine always jumps at opportunities to be on the road with Merlin, spinning out a little secret space for themselves in the midst of all the duties that clutter both of their lives.

"Buy you a drink?" Gwaine offers, nodding towards a rowdy tavern.

Merlin hesitates a moment and then says, "I suppose there's really no better place to gauge the mood of the town."

"Exactly my thoughts," Gwaine grins, detouring towards the tavern door and giving a broad smile to the handful of men clustered outside. They don't return the smile, but they don't look particularly unfriendly either. Still, Gwaine makes sure Merlin's close as they make their way to the bar. He hands over a coin for two tankards of ale, noticing what looks like a fairly intense game of dice in the far corner.

He tries to focus on the slightly sour-tasting ale, and the hum of the crowd, but his eyes keep getting drawn back to the game. There are only four men playing, but twice as many again standing around them watching. Inevitably, Merlin catches him watching and laughs.

"Go on, then," he says, his eyes merry. "Never know what you might hear, I suppose."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely right," Merlin says, his expression almost comically earnest by this point.

*

Later, with the benefit of hindsight, Gwaine thinks it might not have been his best idea to bring out every trick he knows. It's not that he's _cheating_ , but there were long stretches of his life when gaming was the closest he came to an honest living, and Gwaine is _good_. Sometimes his competitive instinct gets the better of him, that's all. It doesn't help that Merlin is right there, apparently impressed. Nor does it help that Merlin's hand keeps straying to squeeze his shoulder, and he insists on leaning down and whispering things like, _what am I, your lucky charm, you jammy git_ , in a softly delighted voice. And well, Gwaine never claimed not to be a show-off given the right incentive.

All in all, he cleans up pretty nicely with a mixture of carefully tossed die and judicious bets. In retrospect, he supposes that if he and Merlin had eyes for anything but each other, they would have noticed the growing displeasure of Gwaine's opponents. As it is, Gwaine's only really thinking of Merlin, who's standing close enough for Gwaine to feel the heat of his body, when the man next to him spots his sleight of hand and the careful way he drops the die into the cup.

"Hey!"

Gwaine gives the man his best innocent look and says, "Problem, friend?"

"You bet there's a problem! I saw what you just did! He's cheating, lads."

There's a rumble of discontent around the table, and Gwaine's unease grows a little. Even as he keeps his expression friendly, he starts calculating the distance to the door, each man's level of drunkenness, and which of his fellow gamblers looks most like an actual threat.

"It's hardly cheating," he says lightly. "Just a different form of skill. What say I buy you all a drink and we call it a demonstration?"

The leader, or just the drunkest one (often one and the same) gets to his feet and says something in a slurred voice. Gwaine doesn't understand all of it, but he thinks the term _disrespectful bastards_ comes up. Then they're facing the business ends of no fewer than five grimy blades and really, that makes the point perfectly clear. Not only are they outnumbered, but they're representing Arthur and Camelot. Possibly a massacre in the local tavern is not the impression they should be giving. Still, Gwaine doesn't see how they can get out of this now without any blood being spilled and he sets his hand on the hilt of his sword, taking half a step to put Merlin behind him.

"Gwaine, don't – "

"Gentlemen," Gwaine starts. "I'm sure this is really all just a misunderstanding – "

The blades are lifted a little higher, press a little nearer, and before Gwaine can consider his next move he feels Merlin's fingers wrap around his arm.

"Sorry," he whispers. "Really I am, but we can't – "

Gwaine's felt the touch of Merlin's magic before. It's saved his life more than once, holding him suspended in the air over a collapsing bridge, or shoving him out the way of an attack. He's felt it in more private moments too, like a stream of bubbles bursting against his skin. This is nothing like any of those times. This feels like a hook behind his gut, yanking him off his feet and into a spinning nothingness. He's only really aware of Merlin's hand tight around his wrist.

Finally the rushing sensation stops. It's hard to tell though, because the supernatural wind that filled his ears when Merlin took hold of him has been replaced by the roar of a genuine gale, and maybe even, beyond that, the sound of the sea. There's snow on the ground, crunching under their feet and still falling heavily.

"I think we've come too far north," Merlin says, cupping his hand around Gwaine's ear to yell the words over the sound of the storm.

"No, really?" Gwaine mutters, but he doesn't make that much of an effort to make Merlin hear him. It's not Merlin's fault they've had to make a quick exit from the tavern. In fact, some people might go so far as to say it was Gwaine's fault.

Gwaine doesn't hear the words of the spell, but a ball of white-blue light appears in the air above their heads, lighting up a small area. The snow is falling in large flakes, heavy and thick, peppering them both in whiteness. Merlin's hair is a glittering cap as they clutch at each other and look around desperately.

"There!" Gwaine yells, grabbing Merlin's arm and pointing towards a darker shadow in the darkness. They cling to each other as they stumble through calf-deep snow towards the shelter Gwaine spotted, the ball of light leading them. Their ‘shelter' turns out to be a small cave set in the hill which rises in front of them. The conjured light reveals a narrow space, extending only ten feet or so into the hill. It's tall enough to stand up in, although Merlin has to bend his head.

They drag each other in as far as they can go, Gwaine's eyes stinging from the snow. The cold only hits when they stop moving and Merlin shivers helplessly while they cling to each other, the wind rushing by.

"M-Merlin," Gwaine says, his teeth chattering. "You have to help us."

Merlin nods, shivering against Gwaine for a moment more before turning around and holding out his hand. The ball of light turns into a ball of fire that floats closer to them. Gwaine and Merlin spend a few moments warming their hands. Merlin even ducks his face as close to the fire as he dares. Still, the snow covering them both has already turned to water soaking them instead, and Gwaine feels in danger of his clothes freezing to his skin. Merlin flexes his fingers more comfortably and gestures at Gwaine. He doesn't bother with a spell, but Gwaine's clothes are suddenly warm and dry as though they've been sat in front of the fire for some time.

"Brilliant," he says, as Merlin frowns with concentration and manages to cast the same spell on himself.

Merlin's still shivering though, looking wide-eyed and almost gaunt in the light of the fire. Gwaine remembers the first time he ever felt cold like that, what a shock it was.

"Cloak," Merlin says. Gwaine thinks Merlin needs to wear an extra one, and hastens to remove his. Instead of putting it on though, Merlin whispers a string of spells at the cloak and it ripples in the air, growing and stiffening into a slightly lopsided – but very welcome nonetheless – tent. It's still bright red, with the Pendragon crest on one side, but right now Gwaine has never seen anything better.

The tent is small but when they scramble inside and Merlin shrinks the ball of fire and brings it in with them, it could almost be described as _not bollock-endangeringly cold_. Merlin sits cross-legged and pulls off his own cloak, obviously planning some more magic to make them comfortable but Gwaine stops him, grabbing hold of Merlin's chilled hands and rubbing at them for a moment. Merlin smiles at him and Gwaine can't resist, lifting Merlin's fingers to his mouth and kissing them.

"You're quite miraculous, you know," he says.

Merlin pulls his hands back. "Oh, yes, very. So much so I landed us in a snow-storm in the middle of God knows where with no supplies."

"And ten minutes later we're dry, rapidly approaching warm, and in a tent," Gwaine points out. "Pretty good going."

For all his bravado, Gwaine is still bloody freezing, his chain-mail feeling like a sheet of ice. He drags it off as Merlin turns his cloak into a blanket. They also strip off their overshirts and boots in spite of Merlin's protests. Gwaine pulls Merlin close under the blanket after he heaps their overshirts on top of their feet for extra warmth.

Gwaine shivers and Merlin wriggles a hand out from the blanket. He makes a gesture and the flickering ball of fire becomes even hotter, warming the tent a little.

"Where are we, do you think?" Gwaine asks.

"One of the islands off the far northern coast, I'd guess," Merlin says, his voice flat.

"Hey, it's – "

"I'm really sorry," Merlin says, looking furious with himself. "I'll be able to find our way back tomorrow, I'm sure. And I'll explain to Arthur – "

"Merlin. It's fine," Gwaine says. Then, with more relish than a makeshift tent in the snow really warrants, "It's an _adventure_."

"But – "

"There's no one I'd rather be stranded with in some snowy wilderness," Gwaine tells him honestly. "Now, we should get some sleep."

Merlin grins at him in the flickering conjured light. "I hope Arthur doesn't start a war while we're gone. He might think Duke Rheged's men – "

"Merlin, it's you. More to the point it's you and _me_. He'll assume we're gambling away all our coin in some grotty bar."

Merlin snorts. "He probably would, you know."

Gwaine knows Merlin's cues by now, and he turns onto his side, curling around Merlin and pressing a palm to his heartbeat.

"No imagination, that man," he says and Merlin laughs, winding his hands into Gwaine's hair and pulling him in for a kiss. "See?" Gwaine says when Merlin releases him. "Your magical cock-ups are really quite handy sometimes."

"Hush, you," Merlin tells him, his fingers toying with Gwaine's collar. "Very powerful sorcerer here."

"Very powerful, just not so hot on accuracy."

Merlin laughs and slaps his shoulder. " _Gwaine_."

Gwaine kisses him into silence and thinks that whatever accident brought it about, whatever snowy nightmare of a place they have ended up in, a night alone with Merlin is never to be sniffed at.

 

*

 

Gwaine's not sure how much later it is when he's woken by Merlin wriggling out from under his arm.

"Where y'going?" Gwaine asks, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Need to pee," Merlin says, sounding just as tired as Gwaine.

He hears Merlin pulling on his boots and mumbles, "Don' freeze..."

"Mmm. Go to sleep," Merlin says, bending down and running his fingertips over Gwaine's bare ankle as he ducks out of the tent.

Gwaine nudges towards the touch and mutters into the bundled cloak they're using for a pillow. He's just drifting off again when Merlin shakes him awake.

"Come here," he says. "You have to see this!"

"See what?"

"It's – I don't _know_!" Merlin says, sounding unsure whether he should be worried or excited. "The sky, Gwaine!"

Gwaine gets a sinking feeling as he stumbles into his boots and shakes the cloak out before whipping it around Merlin's shoulders against his protests. _Not tonight_ , he thinks. _Not now. Not while Merlin's here_. The snow has stopped now, and sure enough, the sky is alive with colour, a riot of greens and blues spread across the night sky like ribbon garlands at a festival.

"Look at that!" Merlin says, turning in a circle in the snow, his head tipped back to look up at the sky.

"I've seen it before," Gwaine admits.

Merlin turns to look at him. "You have? What is it?"

Gwaine shrugs and casts a glance around. "Don't know," he says. "The North Men call it the fires at the end of the world. Is it magic?"

"Not like I've ever seen," Merlin says with a shrug. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Gwaine says, his eyes on the dark fan of Merlin's lashes as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the fire in the sky, as though expecting to feel the sun's heat. _Oh God, why does it have to be tonight?_ "But look, Merlin, there's something I need to tell you. Come back into the tent with me?"

Merlin looks puzzled and concerned as he turns to Gwaine.

"What's the matter?"

"Just – come with me, please?" Gwaine requests and Merlin nods. They've not come more than a few paces from the tent so Gwaine has the space of three heartbeats to try to put his thoughts in order.

Inside the tent, Merlin drops down onto the ground in the middle of their makeshift bed and pulls the blanket over his legs, offering the other end of it to Gwaine. Gwaine sits down next to him and fiddles with the frayed hem of the blanket. His other hand comes up to his throat, one finger tracing the smooth shape of the ring as the other presses into the hard edge of the pendant. Gwaine has never told this story to anyone, and now that it comes down to it, he's not quite sure where to start.

Merlin touches his arm and says his name softly, and Gwaine glances at him. He looks earnest and a bit worried, and Gwaine takes a deep breath.

"When I first left my father's lands, I stowed away on a boat. I thought I'd end up somewhere it was always hot, and the women hardly wore any clothes."

"Standard fifteen-year-old running away from home fantasy," Merlin says dryly.

"But the ship sailed north," Gwaine says, "And north, and north, and north, until the very air seemed to freeze around the sails. I was discovered before then, of course, caught stealing from the Captain's stores, but he decided he liked my nerve and took me on as a ship's boy. I had the time of my life those months, sitting up in the crow's nest, nothing but water on either side of us.

"We made berth in a bay and a handful of us went ashore in a rowing boat to check out the trading possibilities. It all seemed to be going well... I was too young then to spot the signs, and the other men were too glad to be back on solid land. The five of us crewmen took a room in a tavern and that night we were attacked. The locals believed our ship was cursed, or bearing a curse, or something – I didn't fully understand their tongue even though some of the crew were North Men. Anyway. Most of us managed to get out of the tavern and we ran for our lives down icy paths. I lost sight of the others quickly.

"The sky was like this that night too. I thought it had caught fire, I remember thinking they'd throw me up to the sky to be burned if they caught me. I took cover in the darkness, and I was sure I was going to die. If not by our attackers' hands that night, then of exposure or starvation or pure fright. I thought the ship would leave without me, you see, thought I'd be left in that cold, unfriendly land with people who wanted me dead."

Merlin is wide-eyed as he listens to Gwaine's story. He knew little bits of this, or could probably guess them from the vague things Gwaine had mentioned over the years, but right now he looks like a child at story-time, utterly attentive.

"So I was huddling there, in the cold and the dark, when from nowhere, this hand clapped across my mouth, and an arm went around my chest, holding me completely still before I could even think about escaping. And this voice said in my ear, ‘quiet, ship's boy'. I knew it was one of the crew so I held still. A few minutes later a crowd of the town's men passed our hiding place, and then my crew-mate released me.

"His name was Gudmund Kjeldson, and he'd hardly spoken a word on the voyage. No one seemed to know him well, not even the other North Men, and I think I'd grown used to assuming he didn't speak our tongue. I turned to thank him and that was when I realised he'd been stabbed. His tunic was soaked through with blood, black under the sky's light. He gave me this," Gwaine says, tugging at his necklace. "Not the ring; that's my mother's, like I told you before, but the pendant. He called me Guardian, and he said that when I faced the fires at the end of the world again, he would return for his property."

Merlin's interest is rapidly turning into concern, judging by the look on his face, and Gwaine struggles with this next part. It has always played on his mind, from the moment Gudmund pressed his bloodied thumb to Gwaine's forehead and spoke the words. Since he fell in with Merlin and Arthur though, and more specifically since they all met Grittir who named them magic (obvious in hindsight), courage (alright, even Gwaine would have to admit that one), and _strength_ , Gwaine has spent an awful lot of time thinking about it.

Still, it's _Merlin_ , and if what Gwaine's half-expecting comes to pass then – well. It won't have the chance to change how anyone sees him now.

Gwaine clears his throat and says, "He also – he did something to me. Something magical, I think."

Merlin tenses like he's aching to interrupt but presses his lips together, looking more and more worried.

"He put his thumb on my forehead, like this," Gwaine says, touching the pad of his thumb to the patch of skin between Merlin's eyebrows. "And he said, _I give the strength of three that you may guard, and I leave the weakness of one so you may not betray._ I felt a – I don't know. Like a hot breeze. And then he died, right there next to me."

"Then what?" Merlin asks in a whisper.

"Then – " Gwaine rubs a hand over his face. One of the main reasons he's never spoken of this before was a certainty that no one would believe him. Still, if there's anyone who takes the supernatural at face value it's Merlin, so he ploughs on. "You saw the sky outside," he says. "The way it looks like ribbons way up in the air."

"Yes."

"Well, it was as though one of those ribbons came right down out of the sky towards us. I tried to pull Gudmund away from it, didn't want whatever it was touching either of us, but it started wrapping itself around his feet, his legs. It was fast. So in the end I had to leave him. I knew I should run, because surely something like that light coming down to earth would be noticed, but it was like I was frozen to the spot. I couldn't stop myself watching while this light wrapped itself all the way around Gudmund's body. It was red, the light, and it got brighter as it consumed him, until it was almost white. And then – then he was just gone, and so was the light, and I was alone in the dark."

"You must have been scared," Merlin offers.

"Damn near pissed myself," Gwaine admits. He can tell Merlin is still thinking about Gudmund's spell, or curse, or whatever the hell it is, but he keeps his thoughts to himself for a moment, gesturing with one hand for Gwaine to go on.

"I kept moving all night, didn't stop to think about what had happened. I made my way down to the shore in the end and just before dawn I heard voices. One of the men from the crew, as well as the captain, had survived the night. They'd seen the sky, and decided amongst themselves that the whole place was only inches away from opening up right into hell. Anyway, I joined them and we stole a little fishing boat and rowed like hell, weighed anchor as soon as we got back to the ship, and headed south as fast as the wind could take us."

Merlin's gnawing his thumbnail into a ragged edge and frowning at Gwaine.

"What did he mean? The strength of three thing?"

Gwaine looks down at his hands. "Well. I didn't notice it straight away, and neither did anyone else on the crew, but by the time we landed back in Albion, I was doing the work of men twice my age and experience without breaking a sweat. But only in daylight, although it took me some time to put that together. Under the midday sun, I could probably even acquit myself well against Percival these days, but by night I'm – not so strong. Not weak, I don't think. Just – normal." Gwaine pulls a face. "Whatever that means."

"You never told me," Merlin says unnecessarily.

"I know. Sorry. It's just something I've always kept private," Gwaine says. "I'd thought to stay with the crew, you see, but the captain took me aside one night and told me that the others had noticed the waxing and waning of my strength and it made them – uncomfortable. He said he was sorry to see me go, but that I had to, because some of the crew believed I was cursed, and panic infests a ship worse than rats."

Gwaine wets his lips, feeling hoarse from talking so long. "I knew it would make people suspicious so I just..." he trails off and shrugs.

"Started making your own way in the world," Merlin says quietly. "Oh, Gwaine."

"I used it to my advantage when I needed to, but for the most part, I didn't think of it all that much. I kept this with me," he says, tugging on his necklace. "And I just – stumbled on. But then – " Gwaine sighs, remembering the sick little lurch of fear he'd felt at the time. "It turned out one of my old crew-mates had fallen in with Jarl at some point, and he connected me with that scrawny kid, and there you are. That's why Jarl made me his champion. And why he only had me fight during the day. It's not – it's best kept private."

"I understand," Merlin says, and well. Of course he does.

"So," Gwaine says gently, and Merlin looks up at him sharply, like he knows exactly what Gwaine's going to say next. He tries to make it as light as he can. "It seems you're not the only one with a destiny, my friend."

"Gwaine – "

"It's not – I knew this day was coming. All I'll have to do is give it back to him, but I need to do it alone."

Merlin's face tightens into a frown.

"Please just wait here," Gwaine tells him, knowing it's probably futile.

"Oh, of course," Merlin says. "Fires at the end of the world, a quest from beyond the grave, sure, I see no reason why you can't face all that alone."

"Merlin – "

"Shut up, Gwaine."

Merlin lifts his chin defiantly and glares at Gwaine.

"I don't want to put you in danger."

Merlin rolls his eyes, and then his face takes on an expression of fierce concentration. He shivers with his whole body and in the next breath a small black cat is in his place, peeking out from the pile of Merlin's clothes. That particular trick never fails to make Gwaine jump and he laughs at himself.

"Go on, then," Gwaine says.

Merlin waits long enough for Gwaine to pick up his sword and then trots out of the tent flap, tail held high, paws dancing awkwardly in the snow. Gwaine laughs fondly and watches for a moment as Merlin leaps through the snow, pouncing on nothing at all and sending flurries of flakes into the air. Gwaine's heart swells and even though – well, Merlin said it best: a quest from beyond the grave – even though Gwaine's waiting on the arrival of a dead man to settle a contract Gwaine never fully understood, he feels like he wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

The sky still looks like it's on fire, and it's as though talking about that night all those years ago has somehow made it real. His memories of that night merge with the here and now until Gwaine's not sure whether he's a knight of Camelot with a cat-shaped sorcerer purring into his stomach or a terrified fifteen year old in a far-off frozen land.

Then, suddenly, Merlin scampers back up to him, small wet paws against Gwaine's shin. Gwaine goes to one knee and whispers, "What? Hear something?"

Merlin mews a little and Gwaine holds out his hand. "Come here, then." Merlin nuzzles around his hand first, hard little skull butting into Gwaine's palm like he's saying _you idiot, did you really think I'd let you leave me behind_? Gwaine scoops Merlin up and tucks him inside his jerkin where his furry body warms Gwaine through his shirt. Gwaine keeps one arm at his side, bracing Merlin, and waits.

It's not long before he hears the crunch of footsteps in the snow, and a second later, Gwaine realises that the red glow coming down the hill is not a reflection of the sky, or a trick his eyes are playing on him. As it gets nearer, the glow resolves itself into the vague shape of a man. He seems to descend the hill very quickly and before long he is standing across from Gwaine, just visible as swirls of red light outlining his silhouette.

"I have come for what is mine," the man says. Like it had all those years ago, the lights from the sky seem to gather about him, making his features indistinguishable. Gwaine gets the impression of great bulk though, and he remembers a bushy beard and hard black eyes.

"I have it here," Gwaine says, lifting a hand to his throat.

"I will fight you for it by any means necessary."

Gwaine feels Merlin's cat-form bristle inside his jerkin, a soft hiss rising up.

"There's no need for that," Gwaine assures Gudmund. "What's yours is yours, friend. I swore only to keep it safe for you. I never thought to assume possession." He reaches up to the chain around his neck with the feeling that he's being observed very closely indeed. He undoes the clasp, the motion familiar. Carefully, moving his hands slowly so that the man can keep track of them, Gwaine leaves his mother's ring on the chain and slides the pendant off. He holds it in the palm of his hand, offering it out for inspection.

There is a moment of silence and then the rumbling voice says, "Throw it into the air."

As if he was flipping a coin, Gwaine sends the small pendant looping up into the air. It goes much higher than a simple flick of his thumb could have sent it, and as it comes down it seems to be growing, shifting. By the time it thuds down into the snow, the same pendant he's worn around his neck all these years has turned into a large golden coloured shield. Gwaine can feel Merlin's tiny claws digging into his stomach, like a warning that he really doesn't need.

"We will do battle for the shield," Gudmund says.

He sounds the same as he had when death rattles shook him, when Gwaine was a terrified boy, watching a man die for the very first time.

"No, I – I'm surrendering it to you," he says. "I have no desire for it, nor to fight you for ownership of something to which I have no claim."

There's a pause, as though Gudmund is considering his words. Then he says, "We will do battle for the shield. It is written."

The light around Gudmund is fading now, and Gwaine can make out a padded leather jerkin and mail sleeves under that. Horribly aware of Merlin's soft, vulnerable form pressed against him, Gwaine sees his opportunity and asks, "Will you allow me to fetch my mail?"

Gudmund nods. "Victory in a fair fight tastes all the sweeter," he says and Gwaine turns, stumbling on suddenly leaden feet towards the tent.

Once they're out of sight, Merlin changes back as soon as Gwaine starts pulling him out of his shirt.

"You can't go out there," Merlin says, instantly, predictably, although he at least has the sense to keep his voice low.

"Don't interfere," Gwaine tells him, pressing a quick kiss to Merlin's lips. "Anyway, he's technically dead," he points out. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"What are you talking about?" Merlin demands. "You said yourself, the curse he laid on you – "

From outside the tent, Gudmund roars, " _Guardian_!"

"You're at your weakest right now, and he _knows_ that, Gwaine, please – "

"Don't make me knock you out," Gwaine begs, reaching for his mail and dragging it over his head.

"Gwaine – "

"Come on, Merlin. We've both seen enough to know how these things go. This is mine. My test."

"Gwaine, you _idiot_ – "

Gwaine kisses him once more, and then again, can't seem to stop himself. He shapes three words against Merlin's skin, on the high arch of his cheekbone. Then he ducks out of the tent and faces Gudmund in the light of fire the North Man has kindled.

"I'm ready," Gwaine says.

*

It certainly doesn't feel like fighting a ghost. It feels more like fighting a brick wall. Gudmund is abnormally strong, and while he's not especially fast, each clash of their blades sends shudders reverberating all the way through Gwaine's body. He is insanely grateful that Arthur had insisted Gwaine wear mail for his and Merlin's hypothetically casual wander about the town.

He quickly realises he's fighting a losing battle. If it was midday, he might stand a chance, but he sees now that it's been engineered this way. The shield shining dully against the snow, the shield he never even wanted, will be his doom. Because he's been strong enough to protect it all these years, and now he is weak enough to lose it at the required moment.

 _This is how it ends_ , he thinks, as ribbons of light loop through the sky and stars sparkle overhead as though a handful of the snow that crunches under their boots has been thrown against a black cloth. It isn't in Gwaine's nature to give up, even when it is a lost cause, so he redoubles his grip on his sword and struggles to stand steady in the snow. He rallies for a time, forcing Gudmund to take several steps back. It might be the last fight of his life, but the thrill of it is as heady as ever and Gwaine can feel his mouth stretching into a smile he doesn't really mean as he presses his advantage.

It's only a temporary thing though, and soon Gwaine can feel the muscles in his arms screaming with every thrust and parry. His feet are slipping on snow that has flattened and refrozen into sheets of ice under the weight of his body. Gudmund seems to be absolutely steady on his feet and Gwaine wonders whether that's magical or just a sign of skill. Whatever it is, it's enough to send Gwaine to one knee, and before he can either bring his sword up or scramble back to his feet, Gudmund plants a large boot in Gwaine's chest and sends him sprawling to his back on the snow, knocking the breath from him.

The cold seeps through all his layers before Gudmund has even lowered his sword to Gwaine's throat, kneeling astride him to pin his arms. Gwaine can hear his heart thumping in his chest, echoing around his body, driving hot blood. He imagines he can feel it under his skin, feel the fragile little network that keeps him alive. His lungs feel like they're swelling, drawing in the cold air again and again, like everything in him wants to make the most of these last few moments. The point of Gudmund's sword is sharp and icy against his skin, up where the mail can't protect him, where there's nothing but vulnerable skin between him and death.

Gwaine closes his eyes and remembers how it feels when Merlin kisses that patch of skin right there, nudging Gwaine into wakefulness of a morning or pressing softly slurred, slightly drunken endearments to his throat as they stumble through the castle. Pictures Merlin returning to the others tomorrow, alone. Before that thought can spur him into one last struggle, and before Gudmund can strike a killing blow, they are both distracted by the sound of running footsteps and Merlin – damn it, please, please don't – yelling, "Stop! Stop!"

"What is this treachery?" Gudmund demands, getting to his feet and kicking Gwaine hard in the ribs as he goes to ensure he stays down.

"You've won," Gwaine hears Merlin say, apparently not bothered at all that Gudmund's blade is now pointed at him. "Now take your shield and leave us or I will take up your challenge on his behalf."

" _You_?" The amusement in Gudmund's voice is clear and Gwaine thinks, a bit woozily, _ha. Mistake_.

There's a sudden roar of fire, flames leaping ten feet into the air all around them. They burn long enough for Gwaine to feel the snow melting around him and then with a snap they're gone.

"Me," Merlin says.

There's a moment of fraught silence and then Gudmund's sword moves from Gwaine's throat and he lets himself breathe out for the first time in what feels like ages.

"I will take back all that I loaned to you," Gudmund says, and Gwaine has no real objections there, because _taking_ implies _leaving_.

"You will leave him his strength," Merlin says. "He has earned it."

 _Oh my God, Merlin, stop talking_ , Gwaine thinks desperately, but all that comes out of his mouth is a strangled croak.

"It was never his," Gudmund tells Merlin. "It was borrowed."

"He has earned it," Merlin repeats and now he sounds angry. No, furious. Furious like he was on the day he stood between Arthur and Morgana on a blood-stained battle field and sent her running for her life. (Furious like he is when the things he loves are threatened, Gwaine realises a bit belatedly.)

There's a fraught silence and Gwaine pushes himself up onto his elbows. God, everything _aches_. He sees Gudmund and Merlin staring at each other. Merlin looks slight compared to the northern warrior, but he is _bristling_ with power and outrage. Gwaine would never bet against him. Gudmund turns to Gwaine, looking over his body as though trying to work out what Gwaine did to inspire the loyalty of such an extraordinary man as Merlin.

Finally Gudmund nods and makes a complicated gesture in Gwaine's direction. He doesn't feel a warm breeze this time, more a vague sense of something clicking into place. Then Merlin's at his side as Gwaine scrambles to his feet. Merlin's hands are soft where they skim over his arms, down to clutch his fingers briefly as he asks in hushed tones, "Are you alright? Gwaine, Gwaine, oh God – are you alright?"

Gwaine nods, his eyes staring over Merlin's shoulder at Gudmund. He is looking more ethereal again now, some glow to the edges of him as he stoops to pick up the shield. Merlin gets an arm around Gwaine's waist, determinedly taking some of his weight as they turn to face Gudmund. Gwaine limps half a step forward and Gudmund looks at him shrewdly for a long moment.

"You were a worthy guardian," Gudmund tells him. "And you serve a worthy captain."

"Oh, I'm not – " Merlin starts.

Gwaine treads on his foot. "I thank you, Gudmund Kjeldson, and I wish you well."

Behind Gudmund, a ribbon of light unravels from the sky, reaching down towards them. Gwaine feels Merlin move a little closer to him, their arms pressed together. Merlin feels tense and ready to act. Gwaine notices that his fingers are twitching slightly, spread apart as though he's just _waiting_ to throw a spell.

Instead, the ribbon of light hovers behind Gudmund, somehow appearing both hazy and absolutely real. Gudmund lifts his sword in salute, hefts the shield and turns away. The ribbon of light seems to take his weight easily and he walks into the blazing stars, shield glittering at his side.

Gwaine leans into Merlin's embrace and they stand watching for a long time until both the path of light and the man walking it are lost to the sky.

"Come on, captain," Gwaine teases, turning his head and kissing Merlin's temple briefly. "Let's get some more sleep."

Gwaine can imagine tomorrow already, the journey back to the others, and Arthur saying something like, _a knight and a sorcerer disappear from a crowded tavern after riling the locals. No, go on, I am dying to hear the punchline._ For now though, Gwaine has an arm around Merlin, while the sky above their tent swirls with light, curtains of green and red, white stars twinkling among them.

It's enough.


End file.
